


The Care and Keeping Of

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snowman is out of town, and the Midnight Crew had better take good care of her adorable four-eyed cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Keeping Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sannam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sannam).



> Sannam went out to a jazz festival and other awesome stuff. I miss her, so I wrote fic about a cat.

**SS**

It's eight in the morning, and you are asleep in bed when the doorbell rings. You happily ignore it, as you do whenever it rings before eleven.

It rings a few more times, and you find it both harder and less enjoyable to ignore the sound. Goddamn chiming, how can it be so cheery? You stalk out of bed, grab your bathrobe, and shrug it on as you stumble to the door in a haze of hangover and early morning fuzziness.

The half-dozen knives and clubs you've got hanging from the door swing as you open it. The first thing you see blinks at you sleepily with two pairs of white eyes, and you stare at it for you're not sure how long before you raise your eyes, and meet Snowman's, a good foot above yours.

You try to say something, but you are just not up to it this early.

"Good morning, Slick," she says, in her voice like molasses. "I'm leaving town."

"Forever?" You manage hopefully.

"Just for the week. This is my cat, which I am leaving in your keeping."

You consider. "And you actually want it, you know. Alive, at the end of the week. Right?"

Snowman leans in, brushes her lips against your ear, and says in the softest voice, "I think you know what happens when you try to hurt me. Why don't you try to see what happens when you hurt my property? I'd very much like to see that, Slick."

Oh holy fuck, you are instantly on fire. Her voice that close makes your knees dissolve and your fists clench. You want to throw her into a wall.

But she doesn't give you the chance. A second later, the cat is in your arms and Snowman is walking down the drive to her car, figure-eight figure swaying. You do not, through some miracle, drop the cat.

"I'll see you in a week," she calls back.

You look down at the cat. It looks back at you, and then you both look longingly at the car driving away.

= = =

The cat is black with white eyes, two sets of them. You don't like cats. It's not that you're a dog person. It's that you're more the type to step on small animals than keep them. But this one's different. You would have killed the cat as soon as she left, if she hadn't baited you into taking good care of it. Besides... what if she wasn't lying? That's always possible, with Snowman.

So you pour it some milk. You guess Droog went grocery shopping, because you never do. Sometimes food just materializes in your fridge, is all. Damn cat's just lucky it's getting milk, because the only other fluids you've got are whiskey and nothing, and you are sure as hell not letting Snowman's cat drink anything strong.

You settle on calling him the Meowtese Falcon, and put his namesake film on while you devour a bowl of cereal.

= = =

"Get the fuck down from there," you yell at it. Meowtese Falcon blinks one of his pairs of eyes at you and retreats further along the top of the fridge. It's only been two days and this has happened every time you've raised your voice at the stupid thing. This is why you hate animals.

Well, one of the reasons.

You give up and call Boxcars.

= = =

 **HB**

You take Audrey Heppurr home with you, and make her a little bed. She seems distressed. You love cats, but cats do not love you. You try everything.

= = =

 **DD**

"Fine," you tell Boxcars unsympathetically. "I'll take the cat."

You sit at your table that night with a glass of something red and dark, while you read your novel. All things considered, you don't mind having a cat too much. They aren't like some pets. Affection: sporadic, and not embarrassing.

Then Molotov Cattail jumps up on the table, leaving little footprints all over the surface. You place her on the floor where she belongs, and wipe down the table, turning only to find her up on it again. She stretches happily and settles down on top of your novel.

= = =

 **CD**

"It's your turn," Droog tells you.

"Good morning!" you tell him, and take the box he puts into your hands.

"It's a cat," he tells you when you don't open it. Why would you? It's a box, and boxes are pretty neat on their own.

"You got me a cat?" you ask, overjoyed.

"No," he says, though it doesn't quell your excitement. "It's Snowman's cat. Just take care of it for another day and don't let it die."  
You are perfectly happy with that. You name her Whiskers and sit immobile for hours in the secret headquarters with her asleep on your lap. It is one of the best days ever.

= = =

 **8**

You slide out of your car and carry the scent of clove cigarettes with you. Your driver waits. You don't bother to go to Slick's. You just park outside their little lair and descend the stairs. If Spades Slick is at home doing what you asked him to, you'll eat your beautiful and stylish hat.

Predictably, he's stalking around his lair surrounded by his little minions (and his large minion). Clubs Deuce sees you first and pipes up "Hi, Snowman!" and three guns are pointed at you before you can reply. You smile, amused, and two of the guns are put away.

Slick, of course, is still pointing one at you, not because the man has a death wish, but because he needs to prove that he isn't afraid of the idea of having one and he'll choose to have a death wish if you don't want him to have one. There's really no depth at all to Spades Slick, and you enjoy it time after time.

"Here's Whiskers," says Clubs Deuce, and holds up your cat like a child would, scooped under the forelegs. She mews quietly.

"Whiskers?" asks Spades Slick. "You called it Whiskers?"

"That's a terrible name, Deuce," says Diamonds Droog.

"Could be more imaginative," chimes in Hearts Boxcars.

You smile. "Thank you," you tell Deuce, and leave with your kitty in your arms while the Midnight Crew are still squabbling.

As your driver opens the door for you, Slick comes running outside after you. "Hey," he yells from a distance, "What do I get for a week of catsitting?"

You turn and give him a patronizing look. "Slick," you say, "you get the joy of taking care of Whiskers for a week."

You leave while he's still stuttering, and drive off with Whiskers in your lap.


End file.
